Simply Remember
by crestoflight3
Summary: Each of the Digidestined has a signature item, a 'favorite' of sorts that they're rarely seen without. Maybe there's a sort of destiny that brought the individual and the object together, just as a destiny brought the children together to save the world...a collection of eight chapters based on each of the 01 Digidestined.
1. A Supply Bag

A/N: First of all, I want to say that I can see why there is such a thing as the 'freshman fifteen'...colleges give out so much free food. I won't complain while I attack this cupcake, but...

Consider this another college treat. Like my delicious banana cupcake.

What will comprise this newest one-shot collection? The title is from "My Favorite Things" from 'The Sound of Music.' As that suggests, this is a reflection on various material objects and how they are used/seen by the character most directly related to it. Really, everyone has a signature item. Eight chapters, one for each of the 01 cast. (Should I do 02 as well?) Each chapter will contain three parts: the moment the person in question received the item in question, a random moment with it (usually in the Digiworld), and the moment the person loses or lets go of the item.

The premise for this is exploration, not discovery. Therefore, I can't promise that anything will be resolved. Any problems may remain unsolved. No, I won't leave you in the middle of a major event. I'm referring to smaller things, personal opinions, that sort of stuff. I'm not trying to make the characters happy; I'm trying to follow them for a few seconds in their hectic lives. It gets messy at times. Sorry.

So. There's no order to who gets uploaded when; I'm just going to do it in order of completion. Joe was the first, he was the inspiration-I love writing Joe and Gomamon, and their chapter just came so easily. Unlike the others. I'm almost positive Tai will be last, because we all know what his object will be. (Actually, vote: goggles-which is slightly cliched-or the spyglass?)

So. Thanks for reading, sorry for the long author's note, and enjoy!

* * *

"Here, take this." A bag was thrust into Jyou Kido's hands. He blinked, taking in the heavy fabric and red cross on the front.

"Er...what is this?"

Mr. Fujiyama smiled. "This is your supply bag."

"My...supply bag..."

"Yep."

Joe looked up at him. "Why do I need a...supply bag?"

"Why, because I'm going on vacation, of course! You're in charge!" He laughed at Joe's expression. "Just kidding, relax."

"Really, though, why do I have this bag? It's nice and all, but..." He pushed his glasses back up his nose.

His teacher stretched. "Well, you signed up to be a student chaperone, right?"

"...I think so. Though now that I think about it, it doesn't sound really like my line of duty..."

Mr. Fujiyama ignored him. "Student chaperones get these supply bags for their use. They're a few years old, but they do nicely. You'll have a group of students you'll be looking after-just keep tabs on them so nobody gets lost in the woods or gets bitten by snakes or..."

"Lost in the woods? Bitten by snakes?"

"...and you can trade around the bag with your group if you want, so you don't have to worry about it all the time."

Joe was visibly shaking now. It was the first morning of summer camp, and he already wanted to go home. "I'm really in charge?"

A quick pat to his shoulder, and the teacher continued, not noticing his student's distress. "You'll be in charge of six others...normally it's seven, but one couldn't make it, so you've got it a bit easier."

The blue-haired boy repeated himself. "I really am in charge?"

"If you want, consider it more of a...an uncle role. You can have fun and act crazy, but you just make sure no one gets hurt. Okay?"

"No! Not okay! Not okay at all!" But Mr. Fujiyama had already left to give a new bag to another 'student chaperone.'

Joe sighed. He had signed up for the chaperone position because his father said it would give him some "leadership experience." But he had figured being a chaperone meant he would shepherd students into the lunch hall, or make sure the lights were turned off at night. Not that he would have to chase after six younger children and make sure they didn't get buried under an avalanche or eat a poisonous mushroom...he could just imagine one of them recklessly climbing a mountain by himself, or drowning, or breaking dishware.

Still, he was a chaperone. He now had a duty. So he would do his duty to the best of his abilities.

He opened his new supply bag. It was fuller than it looked, stuffed with tissues, a compass that didn't appear to be working (he would end up giving it away to a girl in a pink dress that seemed to be collecting the defective ones), two granola bars (which didn't make it out of that room, because Joe had skipped breakfast), rope, a first-aid kit (which would make his father cry in disgust), a fire blanket, a flashlight, and a list of phone numbers to contact if something went awry. Which it probably would.

Nevertheless, Joe shouldered the bag. This was his, now, and he was in charge.

* * *

They were running. They were in a foreign world, with strange talking creatures, and they were running. From another strange creature. At least this one didn't talk. It seemed more inclined to roar instead.

The seven of them-the fourteen of them, if Joe went into specifics-had set up camp for the night, and he, Matt, and Tai had decided to take turns for watch. And, right when Joe had been relieved and finally gotten the ground to be comfortable, something _had _to show up.

And make them run.

They didn't even know from what they were running; there hadn't been time yet to analyze it with their Digivices, and it was too dark to tell in the dusky world.

But running was good. Or, at least, it had been, until Joe realized something: he was missing his supply bag.

"Joe? What are you doing?" Sora asked as he started to move away from the group.

He winced. "Um. Something I'm probably going to regret later." And, before he could lose his courage, he stopped his momentum and started running the _opposite _direction-straight back at the random monster that was giving them chase.

Sora was yelling something in the background, but he didn't have the energy to listen. Joe was already regretting turning around; would his life really be worth the bag? Normally, he'd say no, but he was supposed to be responsible. And that bag had medical supplies and a bundle of Digi-dollars Gabumon had somehow managed to secure-not that Joe was entirely sure what the strange currency was used for-and the phone numbers, the latter of which they just might need. If they ever managed to get back home.

So leaving the bag behind wasn't in anybody's best interest. And if collecting it wasn't necessarily in his, well, he'd deal with that later.

The Digimon loomed ahead of him, some sort of crazed dinosaur-maybe a dragon? Joe saw teeth and tried to quell his fears. He had to do this.

He dodged the creature, which seemed momentarily confused at one of its prey coming back at it. Some hard sprinting-and now the monster was chasing him-and he saw his bag, lying on the cold ground, as if it were content.

Maybe he'd let TK draw on it later to teach it a lesson. And maybe he was a little slaphappy, to think that a bag could have personified emotions.

Nevertheless, he scooped the bag up in his arms like a baby, quickly turned, and starting running in the opposite direction once again. The poor chasing Digimon paused and tilted its head to the side. This strange boy was running at him again-weren't prey supposed to run the other way?

Its new confusion gave Joe enough time to run between its legs and get enough of a head start to catch up with the rest of his companions in a small enclave of trees.

"Joe! That was awesome!" Tai was saying as Joe caught his breath. Gomamon was glaring at him, as was Sora, but the rest seemed impressed. Joe himself wasn't impressed; he wanted to sleep more than anything else.

"Sorry," he finally said to the two members that weren't happy for him. Sora shook her head and walked away, but Gomamon continued to show a dissatisfied expression. "Gomamon, we need this bag if we want to survive."

"I'm not glaring at the bag, Joe."

"Look, why are you mad at me?" The others were spreading out for sleep again, and Matt was retaking his watch. "I did what I had to do."

The seal shook his head. "You didn't do everything you were supposed to do." Looking toward the trees around them, Gomamon set his head down. "I'm your partner. You're supposed to ask me for help if you need it."

"I...there wasn't time..."

"I'm glad you got the bag back." And, with that, Joe's partner closed his eyes.

Joe stared for a few moments before glaring at the bag he had worked so hard to reclaim. It wasn't the inanimate object's fault, he knew, but without a mirror it was rather hard to berate oneself.

* * *

"Mom? Dad? Anyone home?"

"It doesn't look like they are, Joe."

"Shh! Do you want to get dissected?" Joe held his squirming Digimon.

"Let me go! I tired of being manhandled! And they won't dissect me, Joe. They're not evil, are they?"

"Well..."

"Do they have fangs?" Joe shook his head. "Horns? Can they speak to snakes?"

"...that's random."

"Can they?"

"...no..."

"Then they're not evil."

Joe rolled his eyes and cautiously entered his family's apartment. "Gomamon, did Etemon have fangs, horns, or the ability to speak to snakes?"

Gomamon jumped out of the bag before Joe could stop him. "That's beside the point." He shuffled forward, looking around. "This place is..."

"What?"

"Boring."

Normally, Joe might argue. Sure, the walls were a beige-white; sure, the furniture was slightly lumpy and the pictures were mainly copies of degrees and stock family portraits, but it was home. After the Digiworld, however, he was getting the same vibe that his Digital partner was feeling. His house was boring.

"So. Where's your room?" Gomamon asked nonchalantly. Joe hesitated for a moment before resigning himself to showing his friend his own domain. For his part, the seal monster wasn't overly rude: he stared at the bare walls, but he managed to compliment his collection of books around his study desk. As he searched through his drawers, Joe sat down on his bed.

They were back. They really were. They had a mission, sure-find the Eighth Digidestined Child, save the world, yada yada. But this was home again.

It felt strange. Almost too quiet. He'd call Tai later to figure out what to do next, but this break felt wonderful.

However, there was one thing he wanted to do, before he got too comfortable. He was sure his brother had a duffel bag that he didn't use anymore.

Joe had been ready to board the bus back at camp when Mr. Fujiyama had called him over. "Yes, sir?" he had asked cautiously, trying to inconspicuously make sure that Gomamon still had his head in the bag.

The teacher was looking at that bag. What if he knew something about what they had done? Would they take Gomamon away? Would he get in trouble for leaving the camp ground?

"We'll be needing that back," Mr. Fujiyama pointed at the bag. "Remember?"

Joe rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, right. Sorry." He pulled it off, taking his Digimon out of it. Gomamon remained still. "Here you go."

"Hmmm..." The teacher was looking at the bag, curiously. "It looks like this one is pretty worn out." He pointed out the frayed edges, the faded colors, the several holes that he had tried and failed to sew nicely shut. "And this model was supposed to last a few more years..."

Before Joe started to mumble about how of course he hadn't been travelling cross-dimension for the last several months, Mr. Fujiyama had smiled and held out his hand. Joe took it, blinking.

"Well, thanks for all the help, Joe. I hope you consider stopping by next year!" And off he had gone.

Joe was oddly pleased, and displeased. Part of him was happy that the bag was gone. Too many memories of running away and fighting monsters. And it was starting to smell like old fish and mildew, which couldn't be good for his sinuses.

However, that bag had survived the entire trip through the Digital World. Joe had worn it proudly during those weeks-that-no-longer-existed, using it as well as he could. And seeing it go...he almost missed it.

Sighing, the boy picked up his partner and ran to join his friends on the buses.

And now, back home, Joe was scouting for a new bag. One that could hold supplies, in case something strange happened again. Since it surely would.


	2. A Pair of Gloves

A/N: Thank you for the wonderful response for the last chapter! I really appreciated it, and I'm glad you're enjoying this so far!

This one belongs to Mimi; her chapter was actually completed the latest (I still have three more to finish), but I enjoyed it.

Two words of warning: Once again (I think I mentioned this last time), I'm not writing for resolution. Things might not be resolved, feelings might be left bruised. Secondly, I'm following the dub, before Mimi truly discovers herself. It's hard to write, so please don't get mad if she isn't as sweet as she later becomes. (About half of these chapter things will have darker tones, but I don't think Mimi's are too noticeable...take from that what you will...)

Enjoy!

* * *

"I won't! I won't wear them!"

"Mimi, if you want to go gardening, you need to wear gloves."

"Then I don't want to go gardening!" The young girl stomped her foot down on the ground. In truth, Mimi knew she was too old to be acting this way, but she didn't care. Her focus was entirely on the brown gloves in front of her face.

"But, Mimi, you're the one who wanted to plant flowers today," her father said, sounding exasperated. It served him right, trying to making Mimi wear something so hideous.

"I changed my mind. I'd rather do homework. Or take out the trash."

Her father had started smiling, as though he knew something she didn't. Did he? He couldn't; Mimi alone knew what was going on in her head. She quite liked it that way.

"What if I told you they were princess gloves?"

"Princesses don't wear brown. They wear white, and the gloves are thin and elegant," Mimi explained slowly. He had to understand this. "Can I use my bare hands?"

"You can if you don't mind getting dirt under your fingernails."

"No, thanks." There went that idea. There was no way she was letting her newly painted nails be destroyed by something as mundane as dirt.

"What if I told you they were...um...cowboy gloves?"

"I don't want to wear boy clothes!" Actually..."They kind of do look like cowgirl gloves, though..."

She hated to admit it, but the brown wasn't a bad shade. It was more tan than anything else, and the darker band was wear the elastic would tighten around the wrist. Actually...they didn't look all that bad...if they were cowgirl gloves, that was.

There was a grunt from her father. He must be getting tired, holding those poor gloves at her for the last five minutes. Maybe she should take them off of him, just to give his arms a rest...

Mimi closed her eyes and braced herself. If it felt wrong, she'd just drop them to the ground. The ground wouldn't mind, surely. She reached out and grabbed the gloves.

They felt soft, and flexible, and not dirty, as she thought they would. Her eyes opened in surprise, but these were the same gloves she had seen. Running her fingers against the material, she felt herself smile at the smooth material.

"If...if I wear them...could we still plant flowers?" she asked, hesitantly. Maybe they'd be rough when she put them on, and if that happened, she'd rip them off and walk away. "I mean...that's what we came out here to do, right?"

Her father nodded, still smiling as though he knew something. Maybe if Mimi planted flowers, she'd figure out just what it was that he was so pleased to know.

She put the gloves on, slowly, one finger at a time. They weren't bad. In fact...they were kind of comfortable.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Mimi?"

"I'll plant flowers. With the gloves on."

"That's good, sweetie. Shall we get going?"

"Just one second," she called out as she took off running back into the building. She had just remembered the perfect outfit to go with this new accessory: a pink cowgirl dress with a matching hat. They would be perfect together.

* * *

It was another long day in the Digiworld. The sun was beaming, hot, in the sky; it seemed as though it only had two functions: beaming hotly and hiding behind storms. There was no plain nice weather. It was as if the Digiworld had never gotten around to inventing the wondrous breeze.

Much to Mimi's dismay.

"Do we have to keep walking? My feet are killing me, and the sun is killing me, too."

Matt mumbled something about this being one of the rare occasions a Digimon was _not _trying to kill them. Mimi decided to ignore him.

Izzy was the one who responded. "It's barely past lunch time. If we're going to reach the top of that mountain, we need to keep going."

"Do we really need to reach the top of the mountain so bad?"

Izzy nodded. "Remember? We can see the whole island from there, which could be instrumental in finding human civilization again."

"There aren't any humans; only you guys," Palmon said simply, but Izzy had that look on his face, the one that always corresponded to his ramblings about aliens. It was hard to believe that he and Mimi were in the same class.

So they kept walking.

Until Mimi tripped in a mud pile. Then, the rest of the group kept walking; she had been in the back, so it _was _possible that they didn't notice, but, still.

"Thanks, guys, I'm all right, thanks for your consideration!" she said as snarkily as she could.

Palmon was watching her. Palmon had stopped and waited. Palmon was her friend.

"Mimi?"

"I'm all right," the girl muttered, standing up gracelessly. "Oh, no!"

"What?"

"My gloves!" Mimi was looking at her hands. Or, rather, at one gloved hand, and one bare hand.

Somehow, her right glove had fallen off in the mud pile.

Great. Just great.

"Why are you looking around the mud?"

"I need to find my glove."

Without the glove, her hands would grow rough and callused, and her outfit would look incomplete, and...and she'd be missing that part of her.

She started talking to Palmon. About the gloves, and how she found them. How she didn't wear them every day, nor to bed, but she wore them most of the time.

Palmon was a good listener. Mimi promised herself that she'd listen to Palmon's stories sometime. They had to be interesting, as a plant, in a strange world.

After a few minutes of crawling in the mud-a fact she'd later vehemently deny-Palmon pulled the dirty glove up. Mimi appreciatively took it.

Now they just had to find the group. And not get attacked on the way.

As they followed the trail (or what appeared to be a trail), they came across a stream, in which Mimi washed herself and her accessories off. Palmon just looked on, slightly amused.

Maybe plants didn't understand the horrors of dirt.

It was quite a while longer before they found their friends, seated around a rocky clearing, in a sort of discussion. When they saw Mimi and her partner, they all smiled widely.

"See!" Tai said triumphantly. "I told you we didn't lose her!"

"I thought you were kidnapped and mon-napped by evil Digimon!" T.K. was saying, happily. Very little caused that boy not to smile.

Mimi didn't listen to their relief; she plopped to the ground and sighed. "I'm taking a break now, okay?" she asked, not waiting for a reply.

Her gloved hand found a green clawed hand, and together they rested.

* * *

She stopped dressing as a cowgirl when autumn came.

That was when she put the pink cowgirl dress in her closet, for next year. She had a new cold-season wardrobe, one she had gotten back in May right before her new year had begun. The cowgirl dress was too much for school, anyway.

And, by the time the spring came again and she could have worn the costume, it had to be hemmed. And then sent to the cleaners, which she had neglected to do after the journey to the Digiworld. Because some of that grime was important, somehow-and she barely ever thought grime necessary.

Actually, this was a first.

And so, when that spring came around, and when the dress had been hemmed down and cleaned properly, she had gotten new summer clothes, and the dress was put back in her closet, to wait for later.

That summer, her family moved to America.

She packed the dress. A lot of clothes she sent to charity; she would buy clothes in America, once she figured out the new fashion in the Western world.

But the dress, and the gloves, she gently packed and took across the ocean.

She wore the gloves again, when, in her new home, her father brought home some flowers to repot for the windowsill. She did it all by herself, her gloves on her hands, smiling sadly.

She used them again more than a year later, when she planted flowers at her grandparents' graves back in Japan. She had packed them for the trip for that special purpose.

A few months later, she wore them during a biology experiment at her school, where they were growing lima beans and vegetables and such.

Then she donned them once more when she joined a volunteer group in cleaning up the neighborhood and planting flowers along the sidewalk.

Mimi never really stopped wearing the gloves. She never wore them regularly, but they were always there, ready for use. As they should be.


	3. A Harmonica

A/N: Well, another weekend. Sorry for the wait, but I hope this was worth it! Matt has always been complicated, he's so taciturn and has so many mixed emotions that he hides, for the most part, so I tried to grab onto those.

I will say, the second one-shot was...well, let's just say I had a certain character in mind with whom Matt interacts. Give me your thoughts, if you think you know who I based it off of.

I hope you enjoy! I'll be going to my first frat party tomorrow evening, with any luck, so I might share some stories in two weeks, when I upload again.

Review are wonderful, and thank you for the kind reception!

* * *

When his parents' first divorced, Yamato Ishida didn't know what to think. Eight years old, and he no longer saw his mother on a daily basis, let alone his baby brother. And, as the weeks passed, he saw his divided family less and less. Even his father spent most of his time at work, away from home; Matt suspected it had something to do with unpleasant memories, but he couldn't be sure.

So Matt got used to taking care of himself. Alone. He had to, when he had to depend on himself to get up for school and to make himself a meal at night.

It was a surprise, therefore, when Matt woke up one Saturday to find his father sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee while staring at the wall.

Matt looked at the wall. It didn't look any different, but maybe his father had forgotten that. The boy shook his head and started to make himself some toast. He would have offered his father some, but that might be too awkward.

While the toast crisped in the toaster, his father cleared his throat.

"Matt."

The boy waited. And waited. Finally, he responded, "Yeah?"

"I...we're moving."

"...oh."

Mr. Ishida nodded quickly, nearly spilling his coffee. He shook himself and looked up. "This place...well, there was that attack a month ago, with the explosions, and now that your mother and I are...well, we don't need so big of an apartment, anymore. Time to downsize."

"Okay."

"You're school year is almost over; I'll find a place, I've got an idea. We can get an apartment closer to my job, so I can be home more." Matt didn't say anything, but he knew his father was lying. He wouldn't be home more. He just didn't want to be around Matt's mother's friends anymore.

The toast popped out. Matt quickly put it on a plate and started to butter it.

"I know this will be hard, but we'll get through. Ishida men always do," his father continued, chuckling. Matt wanted to groan.

"Dad. It's...okay. Really," he said, taking a seat at the table. Across from his father. For the first time in weeks.

"I know, but...still. I feel kind of guilty." Hiroaki reached into his pocket suddenly, pulling out a package wrapped in brown paper. He thrust it at his son. "Here. This is yours now."

Matt blinked and set down his toast. Slowly, he took the parcel and pulled it open. Inside was a shiny silvery object.

"It's a harmonica," his father explained, looking back at the wall. "It belonged to your mother's grandfather."

"That's cool, I guess, but why do I have it now?"

"Your mom and I...when you were born, we decided we'd give it to you when you were older. I've never had a head for music, but...with everything that's been happening...it might be a comfort." He took a large swallow of coffee. Then, without another word, he stood up and left the kitchen, taking his coffee cup with him.

A harmonica. Huh. Matt wasn't sure what he felt for it yet. He had never played an instrument, and had never felt like being part of the school groups.

Still, he pocketed it. Because, who knew?

* * *

"Hey, Matt?" Matt looked up at Tai, who was rubbing his eyes. It was another late night, made even worse by the unfamiliar landscape and the shapes in the sky. "We're still doing guard duty, right?"

"Sure," the blond agreed, looking around. It was their first day back, after having gone to their home world in search of the Eighth Child.

It felt...different, being back again. But it was a familiar difference.

Tai was still standing above him, blinking and muffling yawns. "I've got first shift. All right?" Matt said. "Get some sleep. You were probably up all night, worrying about..." The rest of the sentence didn't need to be said. Both boys glanced over at the younger Kamiya sibling, who was listening to Mimi politely, holding back her own yawns.

Tai didn't say anything, but his eyes offered a silent thanks that Matt accepted.

And so, on the first night back, Matt took first watch. He wasn't extremely tired; he probably should be, and he didn't feel like running any marathons, but he wasn't sleepy tired. More physically exhausted than anything else. His mind was still running all over, in a way he couldn't control.

Maybe he just enjoyed being back.

During the next few minutes, the rest of the team rustled around, finding 'soft' patches of earth, trying to gain comfort on the hard ground and warmth in the cool night. Gabumon waltzed over next to Matt, but even his head drooped. Eventually, their sounds stilled and the night filled with the whistle of the wind.

Matt was unaware of when he first took out his harmonica, or for how long he had been playing to himself before he noticed its sultry tones. He felt the silence when he looked at it, guiltily; he wasn't exactly hiding their position from the Dark Masters if he was playing a mournful improvisation for the night to hear. But it was almost instinctual, playing it...the night seemed too empty, now...

"Don't stop."

Matt started, looking around quickly. "Who's there?" he said, quietly.

The voice spoke up again. "What you were playing...it was...nice. I...I enjoyed it."

"Who are you?"

"I've never heard anything that sounded quite like it. As tense as a Kuwagamon's vibrating wings, but as deep as a Whamon's calls."

"What do you want?"

Laughter, soft and almost mocking. "I want to listen to you play some more, Digidestined."

"How do you-"

"Oh, come, now. You're a human, and the only humans that come here are the seven Digidestined." The voice grunted in thought. "Though you've added one. Strange."

Matt turned around, trying to see in the light of the stars; they hadn't built a fire that night, for fear of the smoke being spotted by someone. "Where are you?"

"Are you scared?" If he squinted, he could just make out a pair of glowing eyes, several feet away, on the opposite side of him than his friends. That was a slight comfort.

"Let's see, a random Digimon that evades all of my questions is talking to me creepily. No, not scared at all," Matt said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

However, the Digimon in question didn't seem to hear the cutting tone. He was quiet for a moment. "I'm lonely," he said, quite simply.

Matt blinked. This...this Digimon didn't seem to have social skills. "Are you." He responded, not exactly asking or answering anything.

"Yes." A few moments passed. The glimmer of the eyes disappeared for a second, in what may have been a blink. "Play that instrument again."

Frowning, Matt settled down, leaning against a tree. Gabumon was nearby, after all. "I..." He closed his mouth. Maybe he was relying on a feeling, but he didn't sense malevolence from this new being. He nodded, once, and put the harmonica to his lips, and let his mind escape again.

* * *

"So."

Matt looked up from where he was fiddling with his new guitar. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm visiting."

"Who let you in? I thought Dad was still at work."

"He is." T.K. threw himself down on Matt's messy bed, bouncing a few times before his impact slowed. "You know you should find a new hiding spot for the spare key, right?"

Matt rolled his eyes. Tai had told him the same thing the week before, when he had come to visit with Sora. "Go ahead, get comfortable, you don't need to ask or anything..."

"Well, then, you won't mind if I do this..." And, without waiting for permission, the younger of the two brothers grabbed a piece of paper from Matt's lap.

"Hey!" Matt tried to reach for it, but too late-T.K. had already bounced off to the doorway, pausing to take in the sight.

"What is this?" T.K. started turning it around, upside down, horizontally, backwards, as though it were a foreign manuscript.

Sighing, Matt let his hands rest on the guitar. "What do you think it looks like?"

"Well, it looks like random scribbles, which may or may not be music notes..."

"Hey! I know where you live, remember?"

T.K. grinned widely for a moment, sticking out his tongue. "You can visit whenever you want to, brother." He then grew more serious. "So, you're writing music now?"

"...I guess. Yeah." It really wasn't that odd, Matt thought. He'd been making up songs for his harmonica ever since he was younger than T.K.

His brother seemed to read his mind. "What about the good ol' harmonica?"

"I'm on guitar now. An early birthday present."

"That didn't answer the question." T.K. handed back the sheet music; Matt gently put it on his desk.

"What, do you want that old thing?" the older blond joked, trying to locate his guitar stand. TK, however, didn't smile at the comment. Matt sighed.

"Look, I just want to try something new, okay? Is it really that much of a crime?"

Without waiting for a response, Matt stood up, set his guitar down on his bed-the stand was still evading him-and pulled the discussed instrument out of his right pocket. "Look. I've still got it. I haven't pawned it or anything."

"Yet."

"I'm not getting rid of it. Okay? I can play more than one instrument, you know."

TK still looked skeptical. Matt was a little touched by this concern; they talked weekly, and visited each other whenever they felt like it. But he didn't enjoy this interrogation. He was the one that was musically inclined; he could decide what to do with those talents.

He chose guitar because it was versatile; it could play softly or loudly, harmoniously or abruptly. It performed ballads and rock songs to equal value. It wouldn't require constant maintenance, like a wind instrument, or too many extra accessories, like a classical string instrument.

And maybe-just maybe-he entertained the idea of starting a band in the future. Nothing big; just something he could be a part of.

He no longer needed the harmonica to sing his mood. He had friends that listened to him when he spoke, as much as when he played.

"Just...promise me you won't forget it."

For a moment, Matt wondered why his brother was so concerned for the small instrument. Sure, it had been a lullaby on sleepless nights, in the real world as well as the digital one, but that wasn't much of an excuse.

But...maybe...maybe T.K. knew why Matt had gotten it, from his parents, a hope they had shared when they had been together...

Matt smiled and put the harmonica in a case sitting on his desk; he gently placed the case in a bottom drawer.

"It'll be there if I need it," he said calmly, sliding the drawer back into place.


	4. A Blue Helmet

A/N: Okay, I'm giving up on Saturday posting. I like Friday's much better.

This is...hard. Yeah. Sora, in general, is difficult to write (really, I complain too much. None of them are impossible. I just have a few that are ridiculously easy to write, and a few that require a bit more of my efforts...), and her subject matter is very tense. I'm trying to work out emotions that she may have kept hidden and influenced her later decisions.

And I have to remind you all, I am not solving anything. It stays as it is, bad feelings and arguments and misplaced judgments aside. I love Sora, but her relationships are very interesting to explore...I'll be honest, she's probably my favorite character to try to _figure out_ through writing...

Enjoy! Review if you feel so inclined!

* * *

"Well, how about this purse? Isn't it cute?"

Sora stole a glance, before turning back to the street. "I guess."

"You guess?" Mrs. Takenouchi gently set the embroidered purse back on its stand and frowned at her daughter. "Sora, can you be any less interested in this? It's supposed to be fun."

"I guess," Sora repeated, frowning.

Her mother sighed. This was supposed to have been a fun trip; it was planned as a rare excursion of mother and daughter, for some proper bonding. Her daughter was turning eight in a few weeks, after all, and it was about time the two did something proper together besides minding the flower shop.

However, Sora Takenouchi was insistent on not having a good time.

"Are you hungry? We could grab some street vendor food. My treat."

This was tempting, Sora would admit; her mother was one who wholly endorsed whole-wheat bread and fat-free substitutes. Street vendor food, greasy and artificial, was something Sora wasn't allowed to get too often.

But, still. She wasn't about to be tempted by food, of all things. "No, thanks."

Mrs. Takenouchi sighed. "Can you try to have a good time? Please? For my sake, at least?"

"Not really, no," Sora muttered to herself. She was pretty sure her mother heard her mumble; the woman's eyes widened, but she wisely didn't say anything.

Mother and daughter walked down the street, side by side. To any individual passing by, it might look like a normal family relationship. Let them think what they wanted. Sora knew better. She was almost eight, and she was sick of her mother controlling what she did.

Perhaps her mother had some parental instinct after all; after a few moments waiting for a crosswalk to indicate their turn to cross the street, she cleared her throat and said, "This is about last night, isn't it?"

Last night, Mrs. Takenouchi had started a conversation during supper about Sora's soccer schedule. She was too busy, her mother had insisted, she was away from home too much. Mrs. Takenouchi couldn't always pick her up after school, and that worried her.

Sora had stared up from her food and blinked. "I can get home by myself. It's no big deal," she had said simply.

"It is, though. There's another thing; I need you here at the shop more. We're understaffed, you know that."

"...you want me to quit soccer to work at the flower store?"

As Sora reflected on the discussion, she chuckled, a dry, ungracious sound. Her mother had all but admitted that she disliked Sora doing something so...masculine, so dirty, so far from the realm of flowers and plants and boredom.

Sora wasn't one to get angry at someone for a long time. But this was different. Her mother...

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm going to make sure you don't get ahead of yourself, but you can play for now," her mother said, somewhat apologetically, somewhat irritated. "Now at least pretend to act sociable."

Sora hesitated before nodding, smiling slightly.

Her mother sighed in relief. "Can I buy you something? You're almost a year older...maybe a purse? Or a new skirt?"

There were vendors all around the street, selling their wares. Sora examined each briefly, looking for something that struck her as...well, _her_.

And that was when she saw it. "That," she said, pointing at a hat vendor a few spaces away.

"But...it's very..." Mrs. Takenouchi pursed her lips together. Sora wasn't purposefully trying to vex her this time; she merely didn't want a girly purse or a stupid skirt. What use would she have for any of those things? This, on the other hand...

"I need a new helmet, anyway; Tai ran mine over with his bike during recess. And it's flexible, look."

Her mother sighed again. "The color is nice, I'll admit...and it seems sturdy..."

"Please? I'll wear it every day?"

"Not every day! Just...when you need to..." She shuddered at the thought of what her daughter would be doing that would require her to need to wear a helmet.

Sora nodded energetically, grinning as her mother bought the blue helmet and handed it over. She then did something rather rare for her; she hugged her.

Although Sora didn't see it, Mrs. Takenouchi's eyes widened, and the woman smiled.

* * *

It was stupid. It really shouldn't have happened. Which meant, of course, that it had to happen at the most inopportune time.

"Sora! Look out!"

Something was falling. Something dark and heavy looking, dropping from the sky...

Before Sora had a chance to blink, let alone move-where had her soccer reflexes gone?- the object struck her against the head, and she fell down.

Her head pounded. The world dimmed for a moment, sound fading, before coming back in a rush of light and noise, overwhelming. Above everything was a high-pitched voice.

"Sora! Sora, are you okay?"

"Yeah...I think so..." She gingerly sat up, blinking back the wavy light. "What...what was that?"

"Sora! You scared me! A rock fell down from that cliff, and I didn't notice in time..." Her pink Digimon partner sounded close to tears.

Sora smiled, although it didn't feel natural. Stupid rock. "Biyo, it wasn't your fault. And I'm all right. Promise." She tenderly lifted her blue helmet off of her head and examined it. There was a slight scuff mark where the stone had fallen atop it, but, other than that, it looked as it had before, a bit frayed, a bit dirty, but completely usable. "The helmet protected me."

"But _I'm_ supposed to protect you, not a hat."

"How about I rely on both you _and _the helmet, okay?"

"This is why we should have stayed with the others!"

Standing up, Sora tested her balance. After blinking a few times, she didn't feel like falling over, so she decided to start walking again, ignoring Biyomon's condescending look.

"Wait! You were injured! You should rest!"

"Biyomon, it was a just a rock. It didn't even dent the helmet."

"But it could have!"

"But it didn't," she said patiently.

A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence before the pink bird spoke again. "Can we head back to Gabumon and Palmon and the others now?"

"Why would we do that?" Sora asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because this is too dangerous. Look at what nearly happened."

"Listen, Biyomon. I'm not heading back because of a rock. I've got a helmet for a reason." She hit it a few times to prove that it was sturdy. "I appreciate the concern, but we need to find Tai."

"And why can't we find him as a group?"

"It was my fault, with Datamon. I need to set things right."

Biyomon seemed pleased by this answer. Sora was about to ask why she looked so smug when the bird opened her beak. "It was my fault that the stone hit you, so I need to set things right and make you take a break."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Sora? Please?"

The girl sighed, but couldn't avoid smiling. Biyomon was too nice and considerate; she wasn't sure how she was lucky enough to be partnered with her. "Okay. Just this once."

* * *

"Sora?" Mrs. Takenouchi stood in her daughter's doorway, hand poised to knock. However, there was no need.

The girl was staring out her window, holding her blue helmet-the helmet Mrs. Takenouchi distinctly remembered buying-tightly against her chest. She didn't make a noise, but she nodded when her mother spoke.

The woman took this as a signal that she could enter. "Sora? Are you...how are you doing?"

" 'm fine," the girl muttered. Then, without a warning, she stood up, dropped the helmet, and ran to her mother. And, of all things that could have happened, Mrs. Takenouchi hadn't foreseen this: her daughter hugged her around the waist, burying her face in her purple blouse.

Sora wasn't sure why she was holding so tightly, but she didn't want to let go. Biyomon had reminded her to make things right; this was how she could do it. "Mommy. I'm sorry." She was surprised to feel a few tears falling down her cheek.

Then she felt arms embracing her back. "Dear, why are you sorry?"

Sniffing, Sora looked at the ground. "I never listened and I was mean and I didn't tell you about Biyomon and now I'll never see her again and you'll never meet her properly..."

"To be honest, I'm not sure I want to know the full story." But, instead of looking stern, Mrs. Takenouchi-her mother-was smiling lightly, happily. "I'm sure I wouldn't approve, but I can respect what you had to do. Mr. Ishida was telling us a little about it, and...well, us parents were all cheering for you, up in the sky."

Surprisingly, this only made Sora want to cry more. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

Her mother's grip tightened for a moment, then released. Sora felt, rather than saw, Mrs. Takenouchi lean down and pick something up. "What happened here?"

Oh. It was the helmet. Of course. "It ripped, when we were running away from Pied-when we were running." She decided to lighten the mood; talking about Piedmon's ferocious attack would surely not help her mother understand anything. And she had said she didn't want to know it all.

Her mother inspected it. "Perhaps I could sew it up for you?"

"I...I thought you didn't like it?"

"Well...I'm sure it worked well. It'd be a shame if it couldn't keep doing its job."

Sora let out a choked laugh. Her mother didn't sound pleased admitting that a helmet could be useful, especially such an un-girly one. "That's okay. I'm not going to wear it anymore."

It was a sudden decision. People always said one had to compromise, to concede, to have a good relationship. Maybe it worked that way with familial ones, too.

"Really? Should we go out tomorrow to find a new one?" Her mother sounded surprised, if a little hopeful.

As she nodded in return, Sora took the blue helmet and placed it on the floor of her closet. "That's okay. I don't think I'll be needing another one for a while."

Biyomon would be proud.


	5. A Baseball Cap

A/N: It's too freaking cold out right now. Summer, why have you deserted us?!

Okay, I love autumn, but I could do with above-freezing temperature right now.

In other news, I was able to read two of my poems in front of a small audience for the first time yesterday. Amazing experience. And that got me around to finally writing a new poem...it was a good night last night, even though I stayed up until 1 am, when I said I'd go to bed early for once...

And this is T.K.'s chapter. His deviates quite a bit from the last few ones, not nearly as hard or emotional - although the last one is a bit retrospective - because he's an eight-year-old. And he doesn't need to see the world as overly complicated just yet.

Next up will be Izzy!

* * *

For his eighth birthday, his brother gave him a green ball cap, with a blue gem on the back. Takeru Takaishi had opened the present (making a face at the bright orange wrapping paper), opened the box (it better not be clothes...) ,and instantly hugged Matt, who may or may not have blushed.

And so the party continued, now with the green hat atop the birthday boy's head.

"...and we had cake, and everyone sang to me and Matt played his harmonica, too," T.K. told his fellow classmates the next day at school.

"Why do you want a cap?" a boy asked, examining the new head article with confusion.

T.K. smiled widely. "It's one of my favorite colors, so Matt had to know what those were. And you can see yourself in the gem thing, and it's better than the socks that my cousin gave me. Though they have flying pigs on them, which is kinda cool. I guess."

The boy handed the hat back, smiling. "How often are you going to wear it? Special occasions? Like Christmas, or April Fool's Day?"

If it were possible, T.K. smiled even wider as he put the hat on backwards on his head. It pushed his blond hair out of his face nicely. "Nah. I'm going to wear it every day!"

"...every day? Why?"

"Because!" And with that, T.K. vowed to never take the hat off. It came from his older brother, who was the coolest person in the world. And it was for his eighth birthday, which was a big number. T.K. felt slightly guilty-for Matt's birthday that year he had given him a picture he drew himself and a tube of chapstick because he liked the color of the wrapping. But Matt didn't hate him; the proof was in the amazing green hat.

"Best birthday ever," the boy mumbled to himself that night before he fell asleep.

* * *

"P...Patamon? What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to sleep. Isn't it obvious?"

The young boy giggled. "But...you're on my head."

"So?" Although T.K. couldn't see his friend, he could feel him twisting around above him, getting comfortable. "It's just about the right size for a bed."

"My head isn't a bed!"

"Why not? I think it makes a good bed. You're just jealous."

"Jealous of you sleeping on my head? No way! And that tickles!"

The Digidestined were walking across Server. The older children were discussing Etemon and his Network, but T.K. had become bored by that a while ago. They were almost in a desert now, and he was having more fun getting ready to count cacti.

"Get off!" T.K. told his partner, laughing. "You're going to wrinkle my hat!"

Patamon gave a sigh. "So? A wrinkled hat is better than me being too tired to fly later."

"No, it isn't. You just want to be lazy." T.K. tried to pick the bat-pig off of his head, but the orange creature held on tightly. "Do you see Palmon or Gabumon riding on any heads?"

"Well, no..."

"That's because we're too big. But it looks really comfortable." Gabumon, who must have been listening to their conversation, said.

"See, T.K.?"

T.K. crossed his arms. "It still doesn't make it okay. And I hope you're being gentle with the hat."

"Why are you so worried about the hat?"

"Matt gave it to me when I turned eight!"

"...how old are you now?"

"Eight!"

"But he didn't give it to you today!"

Laughing, T.K. finally managed to pull his friend off the cap. "Silly. I'm eight for an entire year. My birthday was a few months ago."

Patamon seemed to consider this statement. T.K. was glad that he was able to teach his partner; being the youngest, he often had to have things explained for him, but it was nice to do the explaining once in a while. It made him feel older. Which he was.

"T.K., do you think that you guys will get home?" Patamon asked suddenly as he flew next to his partner.

The boy blinked. That seemed rather random. However, he had no hesitation. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "One day we'll get home, and I can show you around my world!"

Patamon, whose ears had dropped considerably when T.K. had expressed pleasure at returning home, instantly rose again. "Really? You think so?"

"Yep!"

"And can I ride on your hat in your world?"

T.K. considered this for a moment. "...we'll see," was his eventual response. However, he inwardly smiled at the thought of him and his best friend parading around his hometown.

* * *

For his ninth birthday, his brother gave him a new hat. This time it was a white bucket hat that fit comfortably above T.K.'s blond hair. It was wrapped in the same orange paper (where did he get this stuff?), but T.K. didn't hug his brother this time. Instead, he sent Matt a smile that he only ever showed his friends, and then turned to the next present.

Still, part of him was sad. His green hat, the one that had travelled so far with him, was worn; T.K. knew that. It was dirty in a way that no amount of washing would ever completely clean, with dirt and sand worked into the fabric. T.K. liked to believe that some of the dirt was from the Digiworld, but it could just have easily been from the beach back home. Still.

The baseball cap was old and worn and small, even if it was only a year old. It didn't fit well anymore, and it didn't look right on T.K anymore. His favorite color may have changed, from forest green to a teal shade-the green had always been his brother's preference, really, not that he would ever admit trying to mimic his brother. The point was, T.K. had changed, had matured, as children do easily in one year, and the hat had remained the same.

A lot could change in one year. In one year, T.K. had grown two inches. He had reconnected with his brother. He had travelled to a foreign world and saved everything. All in just one year.

And now that year was about to be replaced by the next in his life.

When his birthday party was over, and T.K. returned to his room with his presents, he sighed. His older hat was sitting on his bed, waiting to be worn.

It wouldn't be worn again; Patamon would never ride atop that hat.

With white hat on his head, T.K. placed his older cap on his bedpost. It would stay there, he decided. It might as well observe his life, as it had from atop his head. He'd just have to make adventures with his new one.


	6. A Laptop

**A/N: You know you're in a good writing mood when you can sit back, rub your hands together, and grin at what you are about to write. No, not for this chapter, for something else that I was working on two days ago. But, still.**

**Anyway. Izzy. I love Izzy, I really do, he's always been one of my favorites, but I realized, halfway through trying to write him, that I had no idea how to get into his mind. I think I start getting there, at the end. This was hard to write, but I think it was worth the struggle.**

**Oh, and of course it was the laptop. (I did consider doing something else, but Izzy doesn't really have anything else, and I like the laptop.)**

**Next upload: Kari!**

* * *

It was the morning after Koushiro Izumi learned he was an orphan that he got his first laptop.

His parents-his foster parents-didn't know that he knew. He hadn't told them, when he had woken up and heard them talking the night before. They didn't want him to know; why else would they have kept it such a secret for his entire life?

When he entered the dining room that morning, still clad in orange pajamas and yawning, he was slightly confused. There was a large box on the counter.

He was even more confused when his father-his foster father, he mentally corrected himself-patted him on the back and grinned at the box.

"It's yours, if you want."

Izzy didn't speak. This man was a stranger, now. He wasn't his father.

At least, he didn't speak for a minute. Then his curiosity overflowed. "What is it?" he asked, trying to read what was on the box. One word stood out, amid a load of technical jargon that Izzy would soon become familiar with.

"It's a laptop, son," his father...no, this stranger, said. "Your mother thinks you're too young to have your own computer, but I know you like messing around on mine. It's about time you had the privacy of your own."

That was...

He had a laptop now.

He tucked the problem with his parents to the back of his mind. For the rest of the morning, he read manuals, experimented with buttons. His father stood in the background, ready to assist, but Izzy didn't need his help. At regular intervals his mother would enter bearing snacks that the two males would either hungrily devour or absentmindedly ignore.

At some point in the afternoon, his father stepped out, but Izzy didn't notice; he was entranced by the machine in front of him.

It wasn't until his mother called him for dinner that Izzy sat back and stared at what he'd accomplished. He had worked hard, and it showed; the front screen read his name and had a passcode, he had downloaded most of the integral software, he had even managed to log into the Internet. It was far from finished, but he was already getting used to the keys.

When he sat down at the dinner table, his mother-it was his mother, even though she wasn't really, wasn't it?-his mother smiled and passed him a plate. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," he answered, nodding. And then, as an afterthought: "Thank you...Mom, Dad..."

* * *

"Izzy, the others are having a good time. Don't you want to join them?"

"Not now."

"But, look, they're laughing. Don't you want to laugh?"

"Ha ha."

Tentomon lowered his antennae, but Izzy ignored him. He was busy trying to decode this script, the script he had found in that temple on File Island. The others might think that they had time to play around, but Izzy was still transfixed by the original question: where exactly were they?

This world was bigger than he had thought; arriving on this new continent, Server, proved that. And he didn't trust it yet. He doubted he ever would.

"Izzy, do you really think you'll be able to read that anytime soon?"

The boy blinked at his partner. "Why wouldn't I be able to?" After all, he had the right software on his laptop. Why an eleven-year old boy would need hacking and decoding software was beyond questioning by now.

"Why don't you ask one of the others for help?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Look, Joe's a smart boy, he'd be able to help."

"Unlikely."

"Sora seems very practical. And Mimi's very passionate."

"No, thanks."

"Why not Tai?"

"I'd rather my laptop not die anytime soon. Who knows when we'll get home..." The last statement wasn't a question.

"Izzy, why do you rely on the laptop and not living beings so much?"

That was a strange question. Izzy relied on humans-and, he supposed, Digimon, whatever they really were. It wasn't the laptop he was relying on, really; it was himself.

Izzy didn't answer his partner's question and went back to typing furiously on his computer.

He noticed Tentomon sigh, almost inaudibly, before walking off to the rest of the group, which were encircling a blazing fire, courtesy of Agumon.

He noticed Tai and Matt arguing briefly before having a staring contest, which Matt promptly won much to Tai's denial, which sparked a range of questions from Palmon and Agumon.

He noticed T.K. and Gabumon playing with a stick as though it were a sword, and Mimi joining in after a few moments of amused watching.

He noticed Joe looking through his supply bag for the hundredth time, to Patamon's, and Sora patting Biyomon's head as she tended to the fire, and Gomamon lazily watching the flames rise into the air.

He noticed Tentomon staring at him and his computer.

He stared at his laptop, which continued running its complicated program, one he had just created.

If he told them about his efforts, they might be impressed, but...no. They would be confused. They wouldn't see the purpose, much like Tentomon pretended not to see it.

Tentomon understood, but he didn't understand Izzy's apparent lack of comradeship.

Izzy had noticed.

Then the program beeped and Izzy devoted his attention to the intricate workings of this unfamiliar world.

Which was a mistake.

"Hey, Iz," came a voice in front of the boy. Izzy blinked at the darkness that surrounded everything but the fire and his own screen. Tai.

"Good evening."

"What are you doing?"

Wasn't it obvious by now? "I'm trying to translate the Digicode I found in the factory and the temple on File Island. It's immensely complicated," he added, trying to give a hint that he wanted time to himself.

If the older boy noticed, he didn't care. "Cool. Want to show us what you've done so far? We're having sharing time...random stories, anything interesting, you know."

"...not really..." But Tai still didn't care, and he pulled Izzy closer to the fire and the group of thirteen others.

Izzy would have remained silent at the interested eyes-they wouldn't understand, not really-but Tentomon was still staring at him. And, for a bug that didn't have facial features, he was oddly imploring.

So Izzy nodded and started to explain to his new friends.

* * *

The day Izzy's laptop died, his friends acted as though a real person had passed away.

When he had entered his classroom in the morning and taken out a book instead of unpacking his computer, Mimi had bounded up to his desk, frowning. "Where's your laptop?" was the first thing out of her mouth.

Izzy looked up briefly before going back to his page. "It stopped working."

"It stopped working! Are you okay?"

"...why wouldn't I be?" He tried to read, feeling Mimi sending him furtive looks of concern.

Throughout morning classes, Izzy felt people's pitying stares. He didn't always use the laptop in class, but it was a common fixture behind his chair, and its absence, he observed, was quickly noted. People kept coming to him during breaks, asking where it was and, upon hearing the answer, expressing sorrow and remorse.

It was slightly amusing.

During the lunch break, Tai, Matt, and Sora found him in the hallway. "Izzy, Mimi told us what happened. Is it really dead, then?"

Izzy nodded. "I can't even get it to turn on."

"That's too bad. It worked well for a long time."

Another nod. "I saved all my files and programs, so I just need to wait to get a new laptop."

"Oh." Tai shook his head. "Well, if you need anything, just let us know. You sure you're okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Sora spoke. "Well, you had that laptop for years now. It must be hard, knowing it won't work anymore."

"Not really. I was prepared for this event, at any rate."

Sora and Tai seemed to accept this. Matt saw through the lie, but he had enough sense not to say anything. Izzy supposed he would have to thank him later.

Because, he thought as he walked home that afternoon, without his laptop strapped to his back as it usually was, he wasn't truly okay. He wasn't physically ill, or harmed, or even mentally unstable. It was just a machine, he knew that. He knew most of what it did was because of downloaded programs and his own intuitiveness.

But.

He had owned it for years.

He had received it, he'd learned years later, on the anniversary of his parents' deaths.

And now it would never work again.

Izzy was okay. There was no reason, no explainable reason, why he wouldn't be okay. But that didn't mean he couldn't wish that he had a proper excuse to explain why he felt so disheartened.


End file.
